


Together When We Go

by Zai42



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Fix-It of Sorts, Fluff, Foursome - F/M/M/M, Getting Together, Kidnapping, Multi, talking about things for once
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-17
Updated: 2018-04-17
Packaged: 2019-04-24 01:44:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,654
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14345346
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zai42/pseuds/Zai42
Summary: It won't be easy, certainly, but at least they could have each other.





	Together When We Go

**Author's Note:**

> Every time I write a pairing that doesn't yet have a tag I grow in power

Isolation, Georgie knew, was the easiest way to lose yourself to inhumanity. She'd never told Jon, not at the time and not now, that meeting him had pulled her away from a gaping precipice; she had been so close to tumbling over into darkness, and his sweet, fumbling attempts at romance had been a reminder of just how much life still had to offer her. She might have lost both Alex and her fear, but her humanity was something she could safeguard, something she could treasure, and it had been Jon who had reminded her.

  
So when she saw him making the same mistakes she had--closing himself off, withdrawing from the world at large--she knew she had to intervene. She would have anyway--Jon was her friend, after all, and she wanted to help him--but she was more than aware of what he was risking, holding everyone at arm's length, and besides, she owed him one.

  
When she showed up at the Magnus Institute with a bag of Thai food and a relentless smile, the man who led her into the Archives kept looking at her like she had two heads. "It's just--I mean, not to be rude, I just--Jon doesn't get many visitors?"

  
Georgie flashed him her most winning smile, the one that had convinced countless groundskeepers and security guards to let her "poke around" somewhere after dark. "I think he could use the company, don't you?" she said. "Hey, I've brought more than enough for three--would you like to join us...?"

  
"M-Martin," stammered Martin, when she trailed off and looked expectantly at him. "And, uh--I mean. Sure? If that's--okay with you, I suppose."

  
"Of course!" Georgie effused. "The more the merrier."

  
Jon looked--surprised would be an understatement. Horrified was closer to accurate. "What--what are you _doing_ here?" he hissed, ushering Georgie and Martin into his office and slamming the door behind him. "Did _you_ let her in?" he asked, turning to glare at Martin.

  
"She said you were expecting--"

  
"Jon, stop it," Georgie said, swatting at his arm. (Martin shot her a shocked look, as if he had never dared lay a finger on Jonathan Sims, Head Archivist of the Magnus Institute. Georgie filed that look away for further study.) "I let myself in. You haven't been eating properly, I figured we could have lunch."

  
Jon stared at her, mouth working wordlessly. "Georgie," he said. There was a pause as he contemplated the next part of his sentence. "Have _lunch?"_ he finally managed. "I'm--I'm trying to--" He glanced at Martin, who shifted awkwardly.

  
"I can go," Martin offered.

  
"No," Georgie said firmly. "Jon. You need to eat, and you need to stop being such a damn martyr all the time." Both men were staring at her now, and Georgie dropped the bag on Jon's desk with an air of finality. "I know more about this than you're giving me credit for," she said. She grasped Jon's hand, squeezing gently when he started. "Sit down and have lunch with us."

  
For a moment, Georgie thought for sure he would bolt, but instead he sighed, gave her fingers a brief squeeze back, and sat obediently at his desk chair. Georgie beamed at him and began distributing salad rolls.

  
The mood was--it was awkward, Georgie couldn't deny it. But she plowed through it with all the tact of a rhino, chatting about whatever she could think of in an attempt to get someone to engage with her. It even started to work when she mentioned the time they went impromptu ghost hunting on their third date; Jon brought up some detail she'd forgotten, Martin giggled, and Georgie felt a warm wave of contentment roll over her.

  
Then the door to the office opened, and the atmosphere was suddenly like nothing so much as the moment a gradeschool teacher catches you doing something against the rules. "Elias--"

  
_Ah,_ Georgie thought, _so that's the creepy boss._

  
He did fit the mold, tall and disarmingly large, subtly threatening in spite of his carefully groomed appearance. Georgie was on her feet between him and the others before she had time to think about it. "Generally," said Elias Bouchard in a slow and careful voice, "visitors are not allowed in the Archives."

  
"It's my fault!" Georgie said, with all the forced cheer of someone taking a bullet. "I just wanted to bring Jon lunch and we got distracted talking about the good old days--I'm Georgie Barker, by the way, you must be Elias Bouchard?"

  
She was talking too fast, she knew--not nerves, exactly, but the urgent need to redirect whatever anger Creepy Boss might feel towards herself, someone who wouldn't suffer any backlash about it. The thought that this man might undo her afternoon's work tugged at a primal anger in her, and it was only years of practice that kept it from showing through her smile.

  
Elias returned her smile with one that was equally disingenuous, taking her hand. "Of course," he said. "Jon's mentioned you before." It was a lie, and everyone in the room knew it. Georgie could practically feel Jon's eyes burning holes in the back of her head, his panic almost palpable.

  
"I'm so sorry to have caused any trouble," Georgie said, trying her best to be placating. "I can go, I--"

  
"Of course," Elias said. "Allow me to walk you out."

  
"Elias, I--"

  
The look Elias gave Jon was simultaneously blandly pleasant and overflowing with menace. Georgie glanced over her shoulder, locked eyes with Jon, and tried to convey _it's fine, don't do anything stupid_ without speaking. "I--it won't happen again," Jon said, shoulders sagging. His eyes never left Georgie's as he spoke.

  
"I'll see you later," Georgie said, all false nonchalance. She smiled widely at poor Martin, who looked like he might cry seeing the way Elias still gripped her hand. "It was nice meeting you, Martin!" And then Elias was ushering her out the door and back towards the light of day, the pleasantness slipping away from his features as they went.

  
They paused by the doors of the Institute, and Georgie didn't let her smile waver. "My Archivist," Elias said carefully, "is _very_ busy. He can't afford any...distractions."

  
The word _my_ sent a pulse of fury through Georgie's veins, but she kept her expression amiable. "I'm not afraid of you," she said, conversationally, as if it were a natural response to his statement.

  
Elias smiled, not the civil facade of earlier but something calculating and cold. "Surely you're smart enough to realize you _should_ be?"

  
Georgie shrugged. "We'll see."

* * *

 

She didn't go back to the Institute after that, and for a while Jon avoided her like the plague. Eventually she managed to corner him in a cafe not far from the Institute, his head in his hands and a cup of coffee growing cold on the table in front of him. She slid into the booth across from him and kicked him, with more force than strictly necessary, in the shin. He swore and looked up at her; his eyes were bloodshot, with dark shadows beneath them.

  
"My cat misses you," Georgie said.

  
Jon stared at her as she stirred sugar into her tea. "I--Georgie, you shouldn't be--"

  
"Are you really just going to do what he wants?" she asked. He glanced away, biting at his lip. "It isn't helping anyone, least of all you. I meant it when I said I know what I'm doing. Do you want to stay human or not?"

  
His eyes snapped up to hers. "I--I'm just trying to--"

  
"Whatever you're trying to do is unhealthy." Georgie sipped her tea, watching his expression go from panicked to defensive to defeated. "I know you don't want anyone to get hurt, but...you can't keep going like this and expect to stay human. I don't know why, but he doesn't _want_ you to stay human. He wants you to be cut off from everyone so you won't."

  
"It would be _worth it,"_ Jon hissed. He looked surprised at his own vehemence, but continued regardless: "To risk you and Martin and--and _everyone,_ just because I want to stay human? I can't--I couldn't--"

  
"You idiot," Georgie said flatly. "You should know better! Did ignorance help anyone in your _statements?"_ Jon's mouth snapped shut. Georgie felt herself soften in spite of herself, and she reached out to hold his hand. "You can't protect us. Not like that, anyway. So you might as well let us help you."

  
Jon stared at their entwined fingers, mouth twisting into a grimace. "How long could we expect to keep it up?" he asked, whispering as if he weren't sure he actually wanted to voice the thought. "What if I get all of you involved and then I...and then it doesn't _matter?"_

  
"I've kept it up," Georgie said. "And we're involved anyway. Might as well make a support group out of it."

* * *

 

Jon didn't immediately embrace the support group idea, but he at least stopped avoiding Georgie entirely. He even talked to her about what Georgie thought of as _Archivist stuff_ without her prompting him.

  
"Martin says you've been avoiding them," Georgie said one day, trying not to sound accusatory about it.

  
Jon looked up from his tea. They were back in the cafe; Jon had been away for nearly a week and had spent the morning buried in the Institute's library doing research. He would likely still be there now, if Georgie hadn't asked him to meet her for lunch. "I didn't know--since when do you talk to Martin?"

  
"Since I took his number from your phone a while back," Georgie said brightly. She picked a cherry tomato out of her salad and dropped it onto the edge of Jon's plate. "He um. He's worried about you."

  
"He usually is," Jon said, without venom. He speared the tomato with his fork, staring at it as if it contained an answer to his predicament. "I...I'm not _trying_ to avoid them," he said. "It's just...I'm not there very often and when I am..." He trailed off, biting into the tomato with a distinct air of moodiness.

  
"That place is creepy," Georgie conceded. "Why don't we go out this weekend? Grab a few drinks, get you all out into the world." She passed him another tomato. "I know Melanie's busy, she says she has a date or something, but you can invite Tim, too. I think it would do him some good."

  
"You steal his number from my phone, too?" Jon asked, arching an eyebrow at her.

  
"No. Martin talks about him."

  
"Has he told you we aren't exactly..." Jon gestured vaguely.

  
"So you're going to avoid him forever?" Georgie pulled out her phone. "Give me Tim's number, I'm gonna make a group chat."

* * *

 

Georgie hadn't been to the Institute since Elias had--arguably--threatened her, but she figured it wouldn't hurt if she didn't go inside. Instead she parked across the street, fished out her phone, and sent a series of emojis roughly translating as "waiting outside!" to the group chat. She watched Melanie leave with a woman she didn't recognize--maybe one of the police officers Jon had told her about, she certainly looked buff enough--and Georgie gave them a cheery wave as they passed her.

  
Martin had just replied with "out soon! :)" when Georgie heard the knock on her window. She wasn't particularly surprised to see Elias standing on the sidewalk at her passenger door, but it irked her nevertheless. She rolled down the window halfway, kept the door pointedly locked, and flashed him a brilliant smile. "Looking forward to the weekend, Mr. Bouchard?" she asked.

  
"Waiting for someone?" Elias asked.

  
"I have a date," she said, her voice light and airy. "Wish me luck," she added with a wink, taking no small measure of delight in the way Elias' mouth tightened.

  
"You'll need it," Elias said. He glanced towards the Institute, flashed Georgie an insincere smile, and said, "Have a _lovely_ weekend," before walking away.

  
Georgie watched him go, her lips twisting into a snarl, before glancing over and seeing Jon dashing towards her car with a look of panic on his face. Georgie unlocked the passenger door just in time for him to wrench it open. "What did he say to you?" Jon demanded by way of greeting.

  
"To have a good weekend," Georgie said. "It's fine, I'm not--"

  
"Was that Elias?" Martin asked, appearing over Jon's shoulder. He looked worried, glancing between Georgie and Elias' retreating form. "What did he want?"

  
"Maybe this was a bad idea," Jon muttered, rubbing his eyes.

  
"Jon. Get in the damn car." Georgie gave Martin a reassuring smile. "Hello again, Martin. Is Tim coming?"

  
"Against my better judgment," said a voice. The man who flung open the door to the backseat would have been very handsome if not for the sullen look on his face. "You're the infamous Georgie Barker? Nice to meet you face-to-face. Tim Stoker. Apologies for our warden--I mean, employer."

  
"Well, no need to worry about him tonight," Georgie said. She grabbed Jon's arm and yanked him into the passenger seat. "Everyone in! I didn't put on lipstick for nothing, let's get this show on the road!"

  
Damn Elias, the man was like a walking bucket of ice water. The atmosphere in Georgie's van was even worse than it had been when she'd brought Jon lunch. Jon's fingers rapped a restless rhythm against his armrest until Georgie clamped her hand over his to make him stop. In the rear-view, Georgie could see Tim, staring blankly out the window, and Martin, fidgeting nervously. _Fuck it,_ Georgie thought, and started talking about the episode of _What the Ghost?_ she'd been editing before she'd picked them up.  
By the time they made it to the pub, Martin at least had relaxed a little, and had even started asking her questions about her recording setup. Jon was still nervous, but he had laced his fingers with hers and looked a little less grey than he had after seeing Elias. Tim was still quiet, but some of the sourness had left him, and he was looking at Martin as he spoke, rather than out the window.

  
"I'll get the first round," Georgie said as they entered, and Tim suddenly looked affronted. It was the first real emotion Georgie had seen him express.

  
"Aren't you driving?" he asked.

  
"Well, yeah, but--"

  
"I'm not letting the designated driver _pay,"_ he said, sounding genuinely offended that she had even offered. "I'll buy the first round. What do you--actually, no, we're doing shots, don't argue with me. What would _you_ like, Georgie?"

  
"Coke please," Georgie said, beaming. "Ask if they'll give me a lime?"

  
"I will _make_ them give you a lime," Tim said solemnly, and headed off in the direction of the bar.

  
"Shots of what?" Martin asked quietly as Georgie lead them towards a corner booth near the back of the building.

  
"Looks like you'll have to find out," Georgie said. She elbowed Jon in the ribs. "Do you remember the time, over Christmas break, when--"

  
_"No,"_ Jon said, looking mildly horrified. "I do _not."_

  
"Well that's probably because of all the tequila," Georgie said thoughtfully.

  
"Oh I want to hear this story." Tim slid into the booth next to Jon, distributing shot glasses filled with clear liquid. He passed Georgie her drink and a ramekin full of lime slices. "They're very generous with their fruit," he said when Jon arched an eyebrow at him. "Especially when you steal it," he added under his breath. Georgie was already squeezing a lime into her drink.

  
Tim grabbed a shot glass and held it up in a toast. "To our gracious driver," he intoned dramatically. They clinked their glasses together while Georgie gave an elaborate bow.

  
Jon gagged, eyeing his empty glass with distrust. "What on earth _was_ that?" he asked.

  
"Birthday cake vodka," Tim replied. "Bit much, I think. Should I have gone with tequila?"

  
The alcohol did help. Georgie regaled them with what Tim had started referring to as The Tequila Story, and by the time Martin had gone up to buy the next round, the atmosphere had relaxed considerably. "You _saved_ those frogs, boss!" Tim said delightedly, clapping Jon on the shoulder. "I didn't think you'd have a soft spot for animals."

  
"It was more that I had a vendetta against the biology department--what's this?"

  
Martin grinned widely as he slid back into the booth. "Tequila sunrise," he said, and Tim roared with laughter.

  
The sun had long since set by the time they ambled out of the pub, and Georgie was pleased with herself for how loose and amicable her party had become in the intervening hours. Martin was leaning heavily on Jon's arm while Tim was speaking animatedly with his hands about the time he had to convince an old lady that her teapot did not count as a haunted artifact.

  
"If you'd like," Georgie said once he'd finished, "we can head back to my place, get some food delivered?"

  
"That sounds _lovely,"_ Tim said, draping an arm over her shoulders. "Boss, your friend is a delight. I didn't think you had friends, but you knocked this one out of the park."

  
Jon gave them the most openly affectionate look Georgie thought she had ever seen on his face. "I know," he said. Georgie blushed and ducked out of Tim's arms to unlock the car.

* * *

 

Tim insisted on making Georgie a drink once they arrived at her place. "I took a bartending class one summer," he said. "Martin, c'mere, I'll teach you." So while Tim and Martin poked around her kitchen, Georgie and Jon settled in on the couch and flipped through menus. The Admiral hopped up into Jon's lap and began purring.

  
"Told you he missed you," Georgie said.

  
"I'm sorry, Admiral," Jon said solemnly, scratching behind his ears. The Admiral flipped onto his back and gnawed gleefully on Jon's fingers when he took the bait. "Tonight was...nice," Jon said, shooting her an almost shy look out of the corner of his eye. "I--"

  
"You didn't have limes," Tim announced as he waltzed back into the living room, carrying Georgie's largest mug and presenting it with a flourish. "So I used oranges instead. I hope that's okay."

  
Georgie inspected her drink, mildly impressed by the artful orange twist that adorned the rim of her glass. "What's in it?" she asked, taking a delicate sip. She felt immediately warm and cozy, and somehow more suited to a fairytale blizzard than the mid-spring it was outside.

  
"Some tea, some orange, whiskey and honey," Tim said. He handed Jon a glass of water before folding his legs under himself and sitting on the floor. He motioned for Martin to come sit with him, but he rolled his eyes and settled into an armchair with his own water.

  
"I didn't even know I had whiskey," Georgie said. "Thanks."

  
They debated good-naturedly about food, settled on pizza, then debated about toppings. After they finally ordered, Georgie stood, swayed, and let out a breath. "How much whiskey did you use?" she asked Tim as she wandered over to turn on the outside light.

  
"Oh, a lot," Tim said. He was leaning back against Martin's legs, eyes closed in contentment. "Figured you could catch up."

  
Returning to the living room, Georgie paused in the doorway to survey the scene before her. Martin was absently running his fingers through Tim's hair while Tim practically purred in his lap; Jon had stretched out on the couch, looking more at ease than Georgie had seen him in months; the Admiral had one of his paws curled around one of Jon's fingers, and was purring more literally at the attention Jon was giving him.

  
_Good job, Georgie,_ she thought, feeling warm and content and more than a little tipsy. She ruffled Martin's hair as she passed him on her way back to the couch. "We should do this again," Georgie said as she collapsed gracelessly onto the couch. She lifted Jon's legs up and rearranged them in her lap.

  
"Let's see how we all feel in the morning," Jon said.

  
Tim snorted. "Let's see if Elias will allow it," he said, and immediately his eyes flew open. Martin's hand faltered in his hair. "Shit," he said flatly. "I told myself I wasn't going to do that."

  
The cozy atmosphere vanished, replaced by something tense and chilly, and Georgie wanted to shriek in frustration. She almost wondered if Elias had made Tim say it, if he'd used whatever creepy magic he had to reach out and manipulate his brain and mouth to kill the mood. She wouldn't put it past the fucker.

  
There was a knock on the door, and Georgie got up wordlessly to pay for the pizza, leaving three suddenly morose drunks in her living room. She came back and dumped the boxes on her coffee table before snapping, "Look, _fuck_ Elias."

  
They all started, staring at her as if she had said something vile and offensive. Martin actually gasped, _"Georgie!"_ sounding more like a scandalized grandmother than Georgie would have thought possible.

  
"I mean it!" she said. "I just--argh, I can't _stand him!"_ She shoved her mass of hair away from her face, her fingers tightening in fury. "He's a smug _asshole_ and I hate him and I hate knowing how _scared_ he makes you, so _fuck him."_ She crumpled to the floor, folding her arms over her chest and trying not to look too much like she was sulking. "Whiskey," she said, "makes me...fighty."

  
For a moment it was quiet, then Tim smothered a laugh in his hand. "Yeah it does," he muttered.

  
"I'm not apologizing."

  
"I mean..." Martin said hesitantly. "I--I can understand...where you're coming from. But he...he has..." He pitched his voice lower. "He has _killed_ people," he whispered.

  
"I know," Georgie grumbled. "I don't _care._ He can't have you. He'll have to k--"

  
"Don't!"

  
Jon and Martin had said it in unison, Jon half falling off the sofa to grab at her arm. (The Admiral let out a reproachful meow and went to cuddle something less prone to sudden movements.) "Don't even _joke_ about that, please," Jon said, sounding pained.

  
"I...yeah. Sorry." Georgie rubbed at her eyes with her free hand, then said with forced lightness, "Those bartending classes really taught you a heavy pour, hm?"

  
"You know it," Tim said, his tone matching hers in terms of awkwardly pushing through the dour mood. "I can show you some time! Martin caught on quick, right?" He nudged Martin's leg.

  
Martin, looking pale and miserable, jolted, glancing down and resuming his slow stroking of Tim's hair almost on autopilot. "I--yeah. I mean I just made the tea but you seemed impressed."

  
Slowly, the tension in the air dissipated; Jon reluctantly released Georgie's arm and shifted back onto the couch, but he was quieter now, less languid, more wary.

  
When Georgie went to put away leftovers, Tim sprung up to help her, apparently having sobered up some. He cornered her before she could head back out of the kitchen. "Look," he said, "I get what you're...aiming for, here? And it's good, I don't want you to think I don't think it's a good idea, but--Jon's an idiot."

  
"Uh, yeah, I know that."

  
Tim made a face that invoked the phrase _yeah, fair._ "A protective idiot, specifically. And...I can understand that, to be honest. He's mentioned you have your own...thing...going on, but you could--"

  
"If you're about to suggest I abandon you to save my own skin--"

  
Tim held up his hands placatingly. "No! I mean, I guess so, but--I just wanted to say...I'd keep an eye on them. I haven't been the greatest, lately, about that, but..."

  
Georgie stood on tiptoe to kiss him, quick and chaste but decidedly adamant. She pulled away while Tim blinked at her in shock. "You're all idiots," she announced, grabbing his wrist and pulling him into the living room. "Right, everyone on the floor," she said. "I'd say the couch but it's not that big and we'll need the room--"

  
She dragged the coffee table off to one side, gesturing for them to sit. Martin did so obediently; Jon and Tim exchanged a look over his head before Tim shrugged and folded himself elegantly onto the floor. Jon followed with somewhat less grace. With the coffee table out of the way, Georgie made her way back to the center of the room and settled on the floor, forming a loose circle.

  
"What's going on?" Martin asked, glancing from Jon to Tim to Georgie as if they were in on something he wasn't. "What do we...need room for?"

  
"We're going to talk," Georgie said matter-of-factly. "About this. All of this--spooky bullshit." She gestured broadly. "And what we're going to do about it."

  
_"Do_ about it?" Tim repeated, at the same time Jon said _"We?"_

  
"Yes we!" Georgie said sharply. "And yes, we're going to do something! Moping about and waiting to get eaten isn't going to solve anything and _neither_ is shutting everyone out in the hopes you get eaten instead of them. So. Talk."

  
There was a heavy silence; Jon and Tim glanced away, staring very intently at separate points on the floor.

  
"She's right, you know," Martin said quietly. "I mean...we have better chances if we're all in it together, don't we?"

  
"We _don't,"_ Jon snapped, still not looking up. "Our chances are already so infinitesimal--those things are--do you realize what they would _do_ to you?" He finally met Georgie's eyes, his expression pained. "I want to keep them _away_ from you, all right?"

  
"Well you haven't managed to do that yet," Tim said acidly. He lifted a hand and started ticking off on his fingers. "Let's see, we have Jane Prentiss storming the Archives for funsies, then whatever the hell that thing was that took Sasha, then that door thing with the hands, oh, and _Elias,_ proud titleholder for World's Worst Boss." He lowered his hand. "I'll have to buy him a mug. Am I forgetting anything?"

  
"I--that's not--"

  
"None of that was your fault, Jon," Martin said gently. "We know that. And if we help you, and...and something happens...that won't be your fault either."

  
"But you don't--"

  
"Oh for--" Tim launched himself over Martin's lap, bunched his fists in Jon's shirt, and tugged him into a kiss that looked like it contained nearly as much teeth as lips and tongue. Georgie only arched an eyebrow; both Jon and Martin's eyes went round. "Taking a page out of Georgie's book," Tim said, panting out the words against Jon's lips. "We get it, okay? We aren't stupid--well. We know what we're getting into, anyway. And that is all I wanted. To know."

  
Jon blinked owlishly at him from where he was half sprawled in Martin's lap. "...Georgie's book?" he finally managed, sounding dazed.

  
"She kissed me in the kitchen," Tim said, "because I was being an ass."

  
If possible, Jon's eyes went wider. He glanced over at Georgie, who waved at him. "I can kiss you, too, if you like," she said. "S'what we need the room for," she added. "The kissing."

  
"I thought tonight was going to be more family-friendly," Martin said absently. "I would have dressed nicer if I'd known there was going to be an orgy."

  
"I just said kissing," Georgie said, and grinned wickedly when Martin blushed and stammered. She leaned forward to press a kiss to his lips over Jon's head. "Orgy sounds fun too, though. Are there enough of us? I don't know the official definition."

  
"I think you need at least five," Tim said, shifting so he was across from Martin, leaving Jon and Georgie loosely boxed in between them. "Should we call Melanie?"

  
"We'd interrupt her date," Georgie said. She sighed and tilted her head back as Tim pressed a series of kisses along her neck. She met Jon's eyes and quirked an eyebrow at him. "I think Martin would like to kiss you," she said, her voice pitched low and just a little bit bossy.

  
She couldn't see Jon's expression when he turned to look at Martin, but she knew him well enough to picture it--more shy than he'd be willing to admit, still a bit stunned, an undercurrent of eagerness somewhere beneath all that. Martin reached out and touched his face, very gently. "We don't have to--"

  
"No," Jon said quickly, nuzzling into Martin's palm. "I--please?"

  
Georgie felt Tim smile against the column of her throat as Martin leaned in to press his lips to Jon's. "Gosh, they're cute," he murmured. His hand slipped beneath Georgie's shirt to bare skin, his palm tracing the curve of her belly before travelling upwards to cup a breast. "Are you wearing a lace bra?" Tim asked. "Was this your plan from the start?"

  
"Pretty much," Georgie sighed, cuddling back against him and lifting her hands over her head. "Wanna get it off me? I forgot how fucking uncomfortable lace is."

  
"Without anyone getting to even see it?" Tim protested. "At least show it off so it wasn't for nothing!"

  
By now, Jon and Martin were eyeing her curiously, so Georgie huffed out a much less indulgent sigh, sat up, and pulled her shirt off with what she hoped was an alluring flourish. She gestured grandly at her chest, tilting her torso this way and that. "Behold," she said, "my tits."

  
Tim clapped, Martin snorted, and Jon said, "You always did look nice in purple."

  
"Thank you, thank you. Someone get this off me, it itches."

  
_"Gladly."_

  
Clothes disappeared rather quickly after that, fingers and hands and mouths exploring newly exposed skin. It was only when Georgie had sprawled out on top of Jon, Martin laying kisses down her spine and Tim nuzzling Jon's hair, that she noticed how bright his eyes had become.

  
"Still nervous?"

  
Jon swallowed, his hands coming up to cradle the back of her neck, then wandering to touch first Martin, then Tim, soft and gentle and possessive. He nodded.

  
She kissed his mouth soundly, vaguely aware that Tim and Martin had settled on either side of them. "Let us take care of you," she murmured. She couldn't bring herself to say it would be okay. He wouldn't be comforted by that. "We've got you."

  
"We're right here," Martin said, taking one of Jon's hands in his and pressing kisses to his knuckles.

  
"Can't get rid of us now," Tim said. "Be a bit rude, frankly."

  
Jon nodded from where he had buried his face in Georgie's shoulder. "Okay," he whispered. "Okay."

  
Finding a position where they were all comfortable and able to touch each other involved a bit of squirming, but soon they were back to Jon and Georgie pressed between Tim and Martin in a loose tangle of limbs, though now with far more exposed skin. Martin nuzzled into Georgie's hair, one hand stroking circles into Tim's thigh while the other slid down Jon's chest. She shifted her hips against him until his cock slid wetly between the folds of her cunt, then reached out to press two fingers into Jon's mouth; she felt his moan reverberate along her skin when Tim pressed a hand between his thighs.

  
It was awkward, far from perfect, but they fell into a slow, indulgent pace, and by the time Georgie shuddered through her orgasm with four hands and two mouths dancing along her skin, she thought with fondness, _I could get used to this._

* * *

 

"We're _old_ now," Georgie groaned the next morning, tucking her head into Martin's side to block out the stabbing sunlight streaming through the windows. "We can't sleep on _floors,_ what were we thinking?" She felt Martin pat absently at her hair.

  
"Orgies make everyone feel younger than they are," Tim grumbled somewhere off to her side. He sounded oddly muffled; Georgie peeked open one eye to see him face-down with the Admiral purring contentedly on his back. "Your cat's on me."

  
"Yeah."

  
The morning, once they all peeled themselves off the living room floor, was a scene of quiet domestic chaos. Clothes were thrown back on haphazardly (and augmented by the _What the Ghost?_ merch that seemed to reproduce asexually, given how much of it Georgie had available at any given moment), coffee was made, leftover pizza was eaten once it was determined nobody wanted breakfast food enough to actually cook it.

  
"We should...do this again," Martin said, fiddling with his coffee mug. (It was, inexplicably, a _Ghost Hunt UK_ mug. Georgie did not know where she'd gotten it.) "I mean it was...it was good. Not just the--y'know. Going out and...seeing people. That was nice, too." He eyed Jon as he said this last bit, as if expecting him to protest or clam up or simply vanish into thin air.

  
Instead he smiled into his coffee. "I'd like that," he said, and Georgie beamed.

* * *

 

(It's two of their date nights later when Jon notices the off-white van parked across from Georgie's, hesitates for half a second, then strides over to greet them with more confidence than he feels.

  
"Smart man," Breekon says.

  
"Don't need to go getting them involved," Hope adds.

  
Jon nods tightly. "What do you want?"

  
"Miss Orsinov wants to see you."

  
"Says she's changed her mind."

  
He wasn't planning on struggling, but they hit him anyway before dragging him into the van. Jon stares breathlessly up at Georgie's softly-lit windows and reassures himself over and over that they're expecting him back tonight, and it won't be long before they notice he's gone.)


End file.
